Chapter 13 #2
The girl might have said more, but she freezes.
I hear the swoosh of double doors opening and the sound of running feet.
Ivander sprints past them and leaps onto the stage.
He must not have seen the group either. I hold my breath, waiting for the girl to react.
But she doesn’t. Not to Ivander. She gasps, face turning purple.
Her friends ask her what’s wrong. She can’t answer and claws at her throat.
The girl collapses to her knees, making horrible choking noises.
Ivander’s asking me what’s wrong and why I’m hiding in the wings, but I cannot take my eyes off the girl as her friends try to help her. “Must have been that potion the bosses made her drink,” one of them cries desperately. “Hurry! Get a mender!”
I try to run forward to help, but Ivander holds me in place.
As I fight his too-tight grip, the truth barrels into me, and I go rigid in his arms. Ivander would be racing for a mender if this were real.
The sinking realization that no one in Tamarynth will care feels worse than the pull of spirits as they try to claw their way back to the living plane.
Ivander’s shouting at me now, trying to get my attention. When he forces me to meet his intense brown eyes, my mind clears. This time, when I look again into the theater seats, they’re empty. We’re alone in here.
Ivander lets out a slow breath. “You scared me there for a second,” he says in a gruff tone, as if it pains him to admit it.
He sits on the stage and pats the spot beside him.
I join him there and wait for the questions, but none come.
We sit in the silent dark. He stays close to me but without touching.
I won’t say it aloud, but it’s reassuring to have him here.
Something has shifted between us since the day he helped my family get seats before his performance.
At least, it did for me. But lately, he doesn’t just lecture me on how to stay out of trouble or to keep from dragging others down with me.
I can’t tell what it is, but I know he’s confiding in me more.
Maybe because he doesn’t want to burden his friends.
I talk to him because I know he’ll be honest with me.
He has been from day one—even when I didn’t want to hear it.
I want more answers tonight, but that means trusting him enough to let my guard down more, even if he decides not to let down his.
I take a deep, shaky breath. “Those bosses … are monsters.” I brush the tears away before they fall.
I don’t want to cry in front of him. “I’ve screwed up.
I came here to prove my Morphia isn’t dangerous, but I’ve been acting dangerous.
” As I think of how Boss Charmaine killed a judge at her trial, I whisper, “I’m a monster too.
I’ve hurt people with my Morphia. At my trial, I could have killed someone.
If Father hadn’t stepped in at the Resurrection Ball, I might have hurt someone there too.
But sometimes it feels good. It felt good to use my spirits to attack the judge at my trial.
Just like it did to hurt Boss Charmaine. ”
I can’t tell him what I saw in the boss’s illusion.
I don’t want to relive it. Ivander stretches his feet out in front of him, pointing his toes.
Today he’s given himself blue nails, a tattoo of an owl in flight in the center of his chest, visible from the opening in his deep maroon performance shirt, and an array of gold earrings.
His fingers are wrapped with colorful mender bandages to ease the pain of the breaks from using his Morphia.
It’s easier to watch the tensing of his muscles than to wonder what he’ll say.
It’s easier to watch his jaw clench as he studies me.
My face heats. I’ve been staring too long.
Ivander takes time to respond. He doesn’t rush into reassurance. “It feels good to hurt those who deserve it. Does that make it right?” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
The soft spotlight above our heads throws a beam of faded light across his face.
“We learn when we’re young how to use words to hurt each other, and sometimes it feels good.
But we also learn to use them to help.” He peers at me with narrowed brown eyes, as if waiting for me to stop him.
“Morphia’s the same, but no one’s teaching us how to be careful with it.
They’re taking it from us like we’re inherently dangerous. ”
After a pause, he stands. He regards me from this higher position, and I force myself not to shrink under his scrutiny.
“You helped Isla in the kitchen. You didn’t have to. Niko told me you gave him some advice for the bar. People don’t do that on this ship.”
“You do. Your friends do,” I point out. I stand to be eye level with him. If he’s going to start this shit again, I’m walking out. I’ve been doing the best I can to follow the rules, his rules, and not get anyone else in trouble. So far, it’s only been me taking the punishments.
“That’s not what I mean. You’re not…” He shakes his head, as if nothing he’s saying is coming out right. “You’re not what I was expecting.”
With a name like Damarcus, I have an estate to go home to, a father on the council, and a direct tie to the Celestial itself. I should be insufferable and entitled at the least. Maybe I am, if you listen to Eliza. “Maybe spoiled doesn’t have to be separate from kind.”
Ivander begins pacing, not looking at me as he speaks.
His words come out choppy and fast like he’s been holding them back for a while.
“I’ve been thinking about the Celestial.
I’ve been here almost two years and have seen it at its worst. Containing Morphia to keep it from contaminating Tamarynth doesn’t work.
Whatever happened on the top deck this afternoon proved that—stormy seas with no storm to show for it.
This ship’s killed people before, and the guests are still treating it like a toy.
And Morphics have their magic stripped away for no reason. ”
I’ve been thinking the same without allowing myself to sink into my skepticism. I wait for him to go on.
“They used to call us witches and burn us at the stake, but that wasn’t profitable.
Non-Morphics needed what we could do, so they tried to control it.
They started taking Morphia at the first sign of trouble.
Forcing the good ones to work for them. Your great-grandfather helped us survive, but we need to do more than that. ”
His words punch me in the gut. I’ve been proud to have the Damarcus name, but now I’m wondering if we’ve done anyone any good at all.
“What if you could speak to your ancestors, the ones who started this place, try to figure out what they wanted for it? Maybe we could get Tamarynth back to their vision.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t work like that. Trust me, I wish it did.” Images of battered bodies and all-consuming darkness flash through my mind. “Every time I try to bring back my own family, the deathmares are unbearable. I’ve tried to resurrect my brother…”
I stop myself. Talking about Leith feels too personal, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give him something. Ivander’s always given me honesty, and now he’s waiting to see what I’ll do with it. I can’t turn away. “I can try again. To talk to one of my ancestors.”
As much as my promise is to Ivander, it’s also for me.
I’m starting to feel like my father didn’t tell me everything about the first war.
It’s hard to envision what they must have wanted all those years ago.
I imagine non-Morphics and Morphics turning on each other.
Family members against family members. Morphics trying to take power and non-Morphics wanting to keep them from it.
My ancestors must have been desperate to stop the war.
The trials, the extraction potion, and the ship were born of desperation.
I’d always respected my great-grandfather for wanting to showcase the beauty of Morphia on the ship while locking away the dangerous parts of it.
Maybe he didn’t care as long as his family escaped unscathed. But maybe he was naive to think a cage would fix everything.